


Hell is Other People (with Oyster Crackers)

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Seinfeld
Genre: Gen, No Exit, apologies to jean paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 16:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: Elaine makes it through the door of the diner, but really there's no way out.





	Hell is Other People (with Oyster Crackers)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to get back to my OTPs soon, but meantime there is this bit of nothing. Written for a July challenge to play in a fandom you've never written before.

Interior Monk’s cafe. Jerry and Elaine are sitting in the booth closest to the lunch counter. He is picking at a piece of pie, and she’s pulling apart the plastic wrapper on the packaged breadsticks that came with her nearly-demolished big salad. 

Elaine: Hey, check this out… 

Jerry’s eyes flick back and forth between her and his pie as she pretends to smoke a breadstick seductively.

Jerry: Oh, for crying out…

Elaine: _(in heavy, poorly executed Russian accent) _ Ze trick, Meester Bond, is to to queeet while you’re ahead.

Jerry: Onatopp?

Elaine: Onatopp.

Jerry: You flatter yourself.

Elaine flips the breadstick around to hold it Groucho Marx style. 

Elaine: Well, somebody’s gotta. 

Jerry: Now do Michael Corleone.

Elaine: He smoked cigarettes, not cigars. 

Jerry: So… break it in half.

Elaine: _(Does. Then, in a deep, unnecessarily sotto voce...)_ There are many things my father taught me here in this room….

Jerry: Yeah… that sucked too.

Elaine snaps the breadstick once more, and flicks the end of it at him. Jerry responds by reaching back to the now-empty booth behind them, looking for ammo; he hauls over a small bowl of oyster crackers left by another customer and begins propelling them at her across the table with his thumb and index finger.

Elaine grabs a fistful of the crackers, a flicker of demented fury in her eyes; Jerry pulls back but she’s fast- stands and leans over the table, reaching across to shove the crumbs down his shirt, crushing and sprinkling them all over him as she does and pressing against his shirt to really mush them in for good measure.

Jerry: Oh…nice, Very… nice and …so ladylike of you.

Elaine goes for the carafe of olive oil… but …no. The look in his eyes is ‘murder,’ and so she pushes it away again.

Elaine: That’d probably be overkill.

Jerry: The crackers were overkill. Who orders a whole bowl of oyster crackers with their soup, anyway? It’s indulgent.

Elaine: I think El Cheapo George has rubbed off on you. 

Jerry: Look… never say those words in that particular order at me again. 

Elaine starts to lose it: She’s laughing and can’t stop. Soon, she’s paralyzed with deep, rolling laughter, clearly picturing that singularly disturbing scenario as Jerry shakes his head at her disapprovingly. Kramer arrives as this unfolds, sitting by Elaine as if nothing is happening. Elaine is still incapacitated with mirth as he only semi-distractedly both orders his tuna on rye with coffee and a side of melon while also watching her literally sliding under the table from laughter.

Kramer: _(at Jerry, once the waitress leaves)_ What’s the matter with her?

Jerry: I think she got hit by a wave of existential angst brought on by a very disturbing mental image she was at least fifty percent responsible for.

Kramer: Oh. Yeah. That…that’s some tough stuff when it happens.

Elaine crawls out from under the table the long way; hoists herself over Kramer’s shins, still under the table - and while he tries to move his legs, he doesn’t at any point seem to consider getting up and out of the booth to let her out. Once she’s clear, Elaine stumbles over her long skirt as she tries to stand. She’s still chuckling grimly, wiping tears from her eyes as she reaches into her bag and tosses $20 on the table.

Jerry: Where are you going?

Elaine: I gotta get new friends. 

Jerry: Didn’t you try that once?

Elaine: Not hard enough.

Elaine leaves; as she does, she passes George on his way in. He gives a tiny wave and half a hesitant smile but gets zip back from her. 

George sits, smile melting into a deeply perturbed staring at the doorway like it’s done something it knows it shouldn’t have.

George: Do I even want to ask?

Kramer: Existential angst, apparently.

George: Sure. Probably more like hormones.

Kramer: Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll drop you like a bag of dirt.

Jerry: _(nods slowly) _ I’d like to see that. 

George: No, seriously - is she pissed with me, or something?

Jerry: I don’t think she’s ever gotten the hang of Sunday afternoons. That’s all. 

George: _(waves generally at the room, the sky, the universe) _ Who has? 

All three of them leave Monk’s with the feeling they may never see her again - but by Monday at approximately 1:00 p.m. they’re as up in each other’s business as they’ve ever been. 

Jerry has to toss the shirt, though: The grease from the breadcrumbs never does come out.


End file.
